All the things we share
by Audrey1119
Summary: ...One day, in what it feels like distant past, because sometimes I can't remember my life before that day, I met someone. The first person to whom I have ever instantly felt close to...


Unexpectedly but everything you recognize (and it's not much) belongs to BBC :D

**All the things we share**

When I look back on my life, I can't remember the moment when it all went wrong. Apart from the obvious date when death came and finally completely crushed what was left over my wasted childhood.

I was misplaced, in some horrible way different than the others. Child without a parent, child without brother or a sister, little bit of a loner.

People would talk behind my back about tragedy in my family, adults would pity poor child without a parent.

For other kids things seemed to be so much easier with their family Christmases, family trips, family dinners. World seemed to be created for them. They were created for each other.

I was an outsider, intruder, and stalker.

In a way it did well to me. Sense of alienation provided me with necessities to survive. I learnt how to take care of myself. How to watch others living their lives, like you would watch a tv - show. They would have their new toys, happy parents to celebrate good grades with, birthday parties, boyfriends and girlfriends, they were normal. I mostly felt like there was some life manual I never got.

Nothing could fill the gap.

Longing. The most profound feeling, the oldest emotion I could remember. It's waiting for a confirmation that there's something more, a hope to finally witness something other than this slow motion of loss and shallowness they call life. It's waiting to finally recognize that _random act of synchronicity_ to confirm or at least hint that things are not all known, that there is another chance somewhere and somehow. Another chance in a world that could just maybe finally be called home.

It's a waiting game for a sign of something beyond here and now.

Others seemed to be giving up on it. I never could.

So I am stuck somewhere between childhood stubbornness and adultness that forces me to accept that some things will never be. That some things have to be pressed deep down, locked and never allowed out. If they are, you won't be able to move forward and they all say that moving is the most important thing. That you should never stop.

Or go back.

But when I really think about it, moving forward does nothing other than forces you to forget and suppress. It prevents you from thinking.

If we don't move on and we dig deep enough into our own souls we just may finally get to know ourselves. And it's a scary thought because we can't deal with that. Therefore, evolution taught us – move forward, never stay still, never look back.

So of course I chose to stay still.

More often than I should I take off the mask of my adult life and face the fears.

Fears that I should have put behind me long time ago. Things from which I should have moved on.

* * *

They share life in stages. There's a childhood, adolescence, adult age, middle age, old age… You are expected to act accordingly. So how can I find out if it's normal for a thirty – something year old person to feel like a lost ten-year old? If it's normal to be awaken in the middle of the night by a nightmare that began in childhood?

Without any answers, without any act of random synchronicity I still exist. I want things in life that I don't know how to get. Days, weeks, months, years go by. I move through the stages, because it seems the only way to go, I imitate _normal _people's behaviour, hoping to become one of them and sometimes wondering if they ever face fears similar to mines.

Still nothing ever fills the gap.

* * *

One day, in what it feels like distant past, because sometimes I can't remember my life before that day, I met someone. The first person to whom I have ever instantly felt close to.

We learnt that we could understand each other perfectly, like a two sides of the same thing. We had our fights, our disagreements, we hurt each other more than a few times, but at the end we could never stay angry at each other for too long. Finally I felt that we could belong together.

That it could fill the gap.

Getting it was something else.

We look in each other's eyes and there is the exact moment when our souls collide, when for a moment there are no more secrets. I never dare to do something more, to pass the line, to jump over the wall that we have built together to protect ourselves. We are cowards. We are afraid of ourselves. How can I risk losing the only person I've ever belonged to?

So here I am again. Another day at work.

We sit like hundreds of days before across of each other, chatting, fighting, laughing, and sharing our lives, our thoughts, our memories, pain and despair.

We stand so close that we can feel each other's breaths on our faces.

So close that we can't miss look in our eyes that sometimes involuntary escapes and glimpses love.

Later as many night before we may go to one of our homes, fall asleep in each other's arms and it's never awkward. It never calls for explanation.

Because we know it perfectly well.

_It's a random act of synchronicity. _

_It's a way to get things in life._

It's a sign and a hope.

**It's a reason we don't look for anyone else. We already have everything we need in each other. **

We have a chance to build a small world that could finally be called home.

We stay still, though. Because neither of us knows how to move on.

Despite everything, what we have is enough for me to stay alive, to have someone to relay on_ if I'm ever in trouble, if I'm ever upset_. To have someone to give my love to.

I feel like a _normal_ person because finally I can reflect myself in someone else. There's someone who understands. Not just my words, but my sighs, my wrinkles, my thoughts, my stares in the distance, my past and present, my fear of future.

Someone with whom I am no longer a troubled human being, mistake or a person misplaced in space and time.

When we are together it feels right. It feels like home.

It feels like living.

* * *

**This story was supposed to be written in a way that either Harry or Nikki could be the one telling it.**

**I am no good in writing Nikki but hope it doesn't destroy the initial thought. I tried to put some of the "quotes" I could've remembered to make it more believable.**

**Hope it's not too bad. **

**Please tell me what you think.**

**xxxx**

**A**


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